Iron Heart
by Catherine Jane 13
Summary: Emma Swan was the new girl at Storybrooke College Prep, and Killian Jones was just a plain troublemaker. Mary Margaret Blanchard was the good girl, and David Nolan was captain of the football team. And somehow, these two pairs of people fell in love. {Once Upon a Time characters and their pasts transformed into the story of modern-day high school students.} Captain Swan
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The late bell had just rung at Storybrooke High when Emma Swan rolled into the parking lot in her old yellow bug, her foster mother in the passenger seat. _Another first day at another new school_, she thought exhaustedly to herself. This had been her third move this year alone; the system had been bouncing her around from one family to another like a hot potato. She couldn't wait to turn eighteen and be off on her own; no more parents that weren't really her parents; no more step-siblings to annoy and mock her; no more having to eat by herself in the kitchen on Thanksgiving while her adoptive family and their relatives ate a grand meal in the dining hall; no more feeling as if she didn't matter as much as everyone else. Emma's hand tightened angrily on the door handle as she thought about all this, unbeknownst to Penny, her 'mother', who cheerfully climbed out of the car she had graciously bought her new daughter when she arrived. At least some guardians weren't all bad. But Emma was almost positive that having a real family felt a lot different than fourteen miles to the gallon. The two walked together in synch, through the front doors of the massive school building and made their way to see the principal before Emma began classes.

A thin, wiry man, with a slightly contorted face sat poised behind a large wood desk. Miss Lacey French, the secretary, had shown Emma and Penny to his office.

"Hello," Penny smiled brightly. "You must be Principal Gold. I'm Mrs. Longworth, and this-"

"And you must be Miss Emma Swan," he interrupted. "I'm pleased to make both of your acquaintances." He stuck out his hand politely for both the girls to shake, but there was something Emma didn't quite trust in Principal Gold's voice. Penny, however, seemed unperturbed and went along chatting with the subtly shady figure at a nice friendly clip. Once the meeting was adjourned, Penny drove off in Emma's car, promising to pick her up as soon as she got off of work. Emma scoffed at the confusion of the ride arrangement and walked confidently (for this was something she had done dozens of times before) into room 407 – English.

All eyes turned to Emma as she entered the room, but she didn't care; she was the new toy that everyone thought they had the right to play with.

"Ah!" exclaimed a man around his mid-thirties, undoubtedly the teacher. "You must be Miss Swan, the transfer from Tallahassee. I'm Mr. August Booth, head of the English department here at Storybrooke High" Emma inhaled sharply awkward attention still on her. She hated thinking about her stay in Florida. "Class," Mr. Booth projected eloquently, "meet Emma. She is the newest member of our school. I you will all make her feel welcome." Emma tried not to let her impatience show; after all, she had listened to this introductory speech too many times to count.

"Miss Swan," Mr. Booth said, redirecting his focus to his newest pupil, "why don't you take a seat next to Miss Blanchard in the front over there?" He pointed to a pale young girl with short black hair, emerald green eyes, and a kind face. Emma obeyed, taking the only vacant seat in the room, and tried to concentrate on the lesson being taught on the board.

While Mr. Booth was writing the homework assignment on the board, the girl he had directed Emma toward took the opportunity to introduce herself:

"Hey," she whispered softly, gently tapping a bored Emma, "I'm Mary Margaret." She smiled radiantly.

"Nice to meet you, Mary Margaret. I'm Emma."


	2. Chapter 2

The bell rang, a horde of teenaged pack animals surging onto the quad for lunch, Emma and Mary Margaret out-of-place among them. To Emma, the sight of desperation for nearly inedible food was nauseating. A plain PB&J was a step up from human cadavers tossed in a mix of corpuscles and spaghetti sauce. Mary Margaret on the other hand, remained unfazed and in a form of oblivion as to what primitive behavior her peers were manifesting. It wasn't too difficult to figure out why - David Nolan, captain of the football team, and winner of Mr. 'McDreamy' in every single girl's diary was strutting down the tile hallway in his letterman jacket as if he owned the place. Mostly because he did own Storybrooke, along with his gorgeous girlfriend who was sashaying along with him: the infamous head-bitch Regina Mills, who was also mentioned in every Ugly Betty's daily journal entries. Except instead of imagining steamy make out scenes as girls did with David Nolan, they fantasized about decapitating Regina and throwing the corpse into the mouth of a volcano. Sadly, Mary Margaret was no different. She would absolutely melt if David just smiled in her direction, or said a brief 'hello' while passing in the hallway. What set Mary Margaret apart from all the other suitors was that she was supportive of his relationship with his girlfriend. And this people secretly admired her for, earning her the discreet attentions of Victor Whale, the resident Science Whiz on campus.

Where Emma was concerned on thoughts of David Nolan, there wasn't much of any. He was good-looking. Big whoop. And she wasn't afraid to voice her opinion once she and Mary Margaret sat down at a vacant lunch table, along with another girl, Ruby, who Mary Margaret had known all of her life.

"What's with all the commotion about this David kid?" Emma asked, curious but nonchalant at the same time.

"He's REALLY cute and REALLY athletic," Mary Margaret replied dreamily, staring somewhat discreetly at the table where Regina was perched atop, David feeding her grapes from his probably-mommy-packed lunch.

"And completely clueless!" Ruby interjected, bringing everyone back down from the Seventh Heaven of David Nolan.

"What do you mean?" Mary Margaret prompted, surprisingly sweet and genuinely caring about Ruby's point of view. Emma was almost impressed. After all, she'd witnessed hundreds of catfights that started out as tense situations over hot quarterbacks.

"He's totally unaware of the manipulative shrew he's dating, behind all the designer purses and cheer leading uniform!" Ruby elaborated.

"It just goes to show you how shallow people are willing to go to be liked," Emma observed, then turning supportively to her new classmates. "She has nice thing, sure. Whatever, those dazzling objects can be taken away in an instant. But a legitimately good heart can't be tangibly ripped away."

Mary Margaret smiled affectionately at the compliment, but a moment later resumed her brooding over a guy she knew she would never get: "It doesn't help that she's out to get me either. For something I did in the third grade! The third grade!" she complained, exasperated. "All because I kissed stupid Daniel on top of the monkey bars in the stupid third grade," she murmured and muttered other things under her breath, but soon became her cheery self once again.

"So, Ruby," Mary Margaret began perkily, as if her total angry rant had never even happened, "has anyone asked you to the Valentine's Day Dance yet?"

"No," replied Ruby, dejected, fingering her long dyed-red curls. "Who would want to ask the lunch lady's granddaughter? Who would to go on a date with someone related to the person slapping dismembered bodies onto their plates every day?"

"Why don't you just ask someone yourself?" Emma shrugged; inadvertently trying to remind them both that she was still sitting there.

The two burst out into abrupt, uncontrollable laughter, earning them a few confused stares and one perfectly evil glare from Regina Mills, now resting daintily on her boyfriend's lap.

"Us?" they both asked in unison, as if the idea of some form of feminism was absolutely hilarious.

"In case you haven't noticed, we aren't exactly on the popular page!" Ruby snorted.

"I don't see the problem in asking someone," Emma argued defensively. "Anyway, what would have to lose? Like you said, it isn't as if you can get any lower of the social food-chain."

"Gee, thanks Emma..." Ruby said sarcastically.

"You guys are missing the point," Emma continued stubbornly. "All I'm trying to say is that you have nothing to lose. It's our senior year, after all. Let's have a little fun!"

Emma could sense Ruby and Mary Margaret perking up to the idea.

"I suppose we could give it a shot..." Mary Margaret wagered. Suddenly a burst of fearlessness surged through her veins. "You know what? I'm going to do it!" She hopped off the bench and made a beeline for David Nolan, and before Emma or Ruby could stop her, she'd called his name: "David!" she shouted, waving him over to where she was standing, underneath the awning. He was baffled, and confused, but walked over to where Mary Margaret was standing and listened to what she had to say.

She didn't say much, I'll tell you that. Their conversation went as follows:

"David," Mary Margaret repeated, softer this time, nearly inaudible to anyone but herself.

"You're the girl that had the lizard in her desk in the fifth grade," David said, trying to let her know he had at least some recollection of her.

"Sort of," she blushed, looking down at her feet. The rest of the school was pretending to carry on as usual, but every ear's attention was turned toward Mary Margaret and David.

There was an awkward silence, until David spoke again: "So what was it you wanted to tell me Margery?"

"It's Mary Margaret, actually," she muttered. Oh well, she thought, he'll figure out what my name is while we're at the dance. She finally looked up, and met his big blue eyes, and found she couldn't speak let alone ask him out. "I... uh... I..." she stuttered. "Do you know what the History assignment is? I forgot to write it down..." she managed to choke out.

"Yeah," he said, flipping through a dilapidated notebook. "Its page 721, questions 1-10."

"Thanks," she smiled, trying to hide her embarrassment.

"That's all?" David asked, trying to be helpful.

Mary Margaret mentally slapped herself across the face. How could I be such an idiot? She thought to herself. "Yup, thanks. Bye now."

"See you later Mallory!" he called as she spun around, shuffling desperately back to the out-of-the-way lunch table where Emma and Ruby were waiting.

She sat down, adrenaline gone, completely shocked with herself.

"I cannot believe I just attempted to do that..." she broke off and gazed inside herself, wondering what possessed her to try such a thing.

"Emma meant to ask someone single, not dating the super intendant's daughter, and definitely not someone as fanatically popular as David Nolan!" Ruby was frantic, stealing glances at the table where Regina was sitting, praying that she would spare them the gallows of utter humiliation.

"I'm so sorry," Mary Margaret pleaded miserably. "I thought he might say yes for instant, and he'd say 'my girlfriend is evil; I love you so much more,' but… God, I'm an idiot…"

"We all want our prince charming," Emma quipped sarcastically. This gained but a feeble laugh.

A boy in motorcycle jacket and combat boots strode into the parking lot, his hair askew and hanging wispily across his forehead. He held a toothpick in between his teeth, gnawing on it as if he were a menacing bloodhound chewing on a bone.

"Speaking of princes," Ruby groaned, referring to the boy that was making his way forcefully through the lunch benches.

"That's Killian Jones," Mary Margaret whispered fearfully. "They say he killed his step-father."

"Ha!" Emma scoffed.

"She isn't kidding," added Ruby. "Sure, he's hot, but he's also a lot of trouble."

"All he wants of life is a never ending cycle of playing beer-pong and getting into desperate girls' pants. His step-dad probably got the Hell out of Dodge when he realized his slut of a wife had a son that was just like himself." Emma thought the threat of Killian Jones an absolutely comical idea. "I've seen so many guys that are exactly like Mr. McSteamy-Creep."

"How many schools have you been at?" Ruby quizzed.

"Enough to know," Emma snapped, flashing back to Tallahassee for a split second, shivering as she recalled her home in Florida just a few short months ago.

Emptying those memories from her mind, she got up and went to go through her sandwich wrap away. She walked confidently past the Popular Table, toward the waste basket underneath the canopy where Mary Margaret and David had had their conversation just a short fifteen minutes before, and tried to ignore the infamous Killian Jones leaning against the chain-link fence, a cigarette now hanging loosely out of his mouth. The embers clustered of the butt smoldered and smoked, much like the effect his eyes had on the back of Emma's head as she turned away, taking her time throwing her trash away. It might just as well have been a cigarette singeing her long blonde hair.

"You're the new girl." He stated, chuckling lightly in his gravelly voice.

"Otherwise known as Fresh Meat?" Emma joked rudely. Killian seemed unfazed.

"The hot mysterious blond I just can't wait to sink my teeth into," he shot back, playing along.

Emma rolled her eyes and started back for Ruby and Mary Margaret, when Killian stretched his hand out lazily. "Killian Jones."

"Emma. Emma Swan," she said over her shoulder, refusing to shake his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Archie Hopper's office had a warm, trusting feeling to it. He was the school guidance councilor, who usually received frequent visits from a certain trouble-making Killian Jones. Dust floated daintily about the air and comforting beams of sunlight wafted in through the blinds. It lie cramped and cluttered with dilapidated books stacked up high, oddly shaped lamps that were of no need, and all sorts of odds ad ends gave the cozy little office space a nice, lived in feeling.

Then Killian Jones opened the door.

Everything seemed to shrivel up and disintegrate into a pathetic pool of Jell-O at the sight of his scruffy appearance. Cold, cynical vibrations radiated from him like an eclipse, and with broad shoulders and a forceful stride, Killian's presence overpowered all others.

So, it was no surprise that a cloud passed before the sun as Mr. Jones got settled in his place leaning up against the bookcase, an amused smirk playing across the canvas of his rugged features.

Dr. Hopper tried to put on a brave disposition, but the sweat trickling down his temples suggested a poorly sold bluff.

"Why don't you sit down, Killian?" Archie offered coolly.

Killian rolled his eyes, still off balance from his run-in with the new girl, Emma. Or, 'Emma. Emma Swan,' as she had so crudely put it. She was inexplicable. One girl out of the thousand that went to Storybrooke High that he couldn't see straight through. 'Worth further investigation' he jotted down in his little mental black book.

Dr. Hopper cleared his throat. "It has been brought to my attention that teachers haven't seen much of you these past... I don't know... about four years... Oh wait! That's right! That means for as long as you've been a student here, the marijuana in the boys' bathroom and the girls you hang out with in the janitor's closet are tied at number one on your list of priorities instead of lets say... I'm just going to throw something out there... School! Killian, school!" He let the words sink in. "What do you want to do with your life? Because now it seems that the answer to that is a lot of nothing, kid. Do you want to be pumping gas or working at McDonald's for the rest of your life? Do you want to live in your car, barely making enough money to live a bearable life? Huh? Or maybe one day you'd like to make something of yourself. Go off to college. Get a steady job. Support yourself. Have a suitable way of living. Settle down. Have a family of your own."

There was a silence as Dr. Hopper's words cut in deep.

"Your only shot at that good life, kid," he continued, "is if you start now. You're bright. You've got some smarts that you're afraid to use right now, but soon your opportunity is going to pass you by, and you won't be able to harness all the potential you've got in there.  
"So," his voice became abruptly official and businesslike, "by order of Principal Gold, I have the task of assigning you a tutor, to graduate and possibly, hopefully, if you work your hardest, get straight B's down the pipe." He stood drawing their meeting to a close. "I'm rooting for you, kid," closed with an assuring nod.

"Wait," Killian said on his way out the door, sensing something was amiss. "Who is my new tutor? Mary something-or-other? Friends with Diner Girl, Red or Ruby or whoever?"

"Not quite," Archie replied apologetically. "She arrived here today actually. Emma Swan. Her mother wanted her to be more involved in this school compared to all the others she has attended. She's sharp, despite her appearance. And fearless."

Emma Swan may have been quick with a figure or two, and her mother may have forced her to sign up on the tutor list, but everyone knew the only reason she was selected to be Killian Jones' tutor was because she could take the bull by the horns and not be terrified to get a little dirt on her.

"How many schools has she been to?" Killian asked nonchalantly, hoping Dr. Hopper would let something slip about the mysterious girl.

"Five in the last year," he answered mildly, not realizing the confidential information that he'd just let slip.

"When do we start?" Killian asked subtly sarcastic.

Suddenly prompt and official, "At 3:45 afterschool," said Archie, decreeing The Powerful Gold's hold on him and everyone else affiliated with Storybrooke High, excepting Regina's mother of course - the notorious Cora, a hardball businesswoman who dabbled in politics (as dirty as they come) as well.

"Don't be late!" Archie asserted as a smug Killian stepped out the door, a sly smile creeping up on his face. He knew more about Emma Swan than any student there, though be it very little information. And he planned to use that to his advantage.

* * *

The final bell rang, announcing the end of school. Emma scurried out of Government, slinging her old, threadbare backpack over her shoulder, and practically sprinting down the hallway past the Valentine's Day Dance posters, into the bustling parking lot where she was sure Penny would be waiting. But she wasn't. Ten minutes ticked by. Then fifteen. Then twenty. A little more than irked, Emma whipped out her rusted dinosaur of a phone, punching in her adoptive mother's number. She paced back and forth as she waiting for someone to pick up on the other line.

"Emma!" Penny greeted her foster daughter warmly. Emma did not return the favor.

"Where are you?" Emma urged.

"Ugh! Sweetie," Penny exclaimed, mentally scolding herself. "I forgot to tell you. I signed you up for tutoring and your first session starts this afternoon! I'm so sorry! I just blanked and - God I'm so sorry," she rambled. "I just wanted you to be more involved at Storybrooke. I mean in the last four years you've been to thirteen schools, and if you went back now you wouldn't even be able to tell you even went there at all. I just want you to leave your mark somewhere, so that when you're grown and have children of your own, you'll be able to tell them stories about your high school experience and give them advice. After all, you'll be graduating from Storybrooke, and as your mother, I-"

This is where Emma exploded. "You are not my mother!" she screamed into the speaker. "You will never be my mother! No one is my mother! And Pete isn't my father and Aurora isn't my sister and neither is Ella! None of you are my family! You gave me this job without my consent! You haven't even had me a full week yet! How can you expect to know what's best for me and what I want if you don't even know me?" She panted for a moment, catching her breath, both women silent until Emma added indignantly, "I'll be walking home." And then with the click of a button, her mother was gone from her presence.

Emma found her way to the library, Ms. Belle French, also the secretary, timidly directing her to an out-of-the-way table in the farthest back reaches of the building where none other than the nefarious Killian Jones was sitting, a smug smirk across his face as he saw her reaction.

"Why, I do believe we've met before, Ms. Swan."


	4. Chapter 4

"You don't really strike me as the type to be tutored," Emma mused, leaning against the chair. Her blond hair was loose, framing the defined angles of her face, and her eyes flickered with bursts of contained emotion, concealed by the vague stoniness of her expression. Killian examined her, contemplating his next move as if this staring contest was some sort of chess game.

"What do I strike you as?" he cracked a cockeyed smile, motionless unblinking.

"I know you don't strike my fancy," Emma quipped, trying to find where his buttons were and push them. Hard. She'd lived in a rural part Michigan for nearly a year sophomore year, with a cop as her guardian. Uncle Butch had shown her the ropes and helped find her way around the interrogation room. On minor charges, such as cases involving the typical teenage Trespass-N'-T.P., he'd her run the show and call the shots. "Everyone needs a trade," Butch had told Emma once. "You might as well learn mine." Those words stuck with her wherever she went. Butch died right before junior year, sending her packing for yet another town far, far away. To Florida.

A burning sensation shot through her eyes. Not because of the competition she was engaged in, but the painful memories that went along with the thought of Tallahassee… and Neal. Someday she'd be able to face her demons, and stare them down in the broad of day, but for now all she could do was run. And soon she'd be running again.

Killian, instead of staring at Emma, he looked inside himself and pondered his thoughts – or rather, her thoughts. There was something that he couldn't quite figure out about Emma Swan. What was it? Was there something missing? Was there something extra about her? She had this air of knowledge about her. Not the bright, brilliant knowledge that smiled so blindingly bright. No. The kind that manifested someone who had seen everything, heard too much, been beaten down too hard, had tried every trick in the book and found than nothing worked. So what? She bottles herself up and stores her hope away in that iron heart of hers and lets it freeze over and dwindle, melting away like a candle until – _poof!_ She's all gone.

He had her all figured out.

Grinning, he said, "Don't kid yourself, of course you like me. You know everything about me. I know the accent is a bit of a turn on, but you know how girls are with those…" He winked at her, trying to get the impenetrable Ms. Swan to absolutely blow up with fury and frustration. After all, manipulation was a talent, and didn't somewhere in the Bible Jesus say to play to your strong suits? That was the one thing he could accredit his embarrassment of a step-father, Principal Gold, to – he learned from the best.

"And why would I ever make the mistake wanting to know anything about you?" Emma quizzed ruthlessly, poking around to try and find his breaking point.

Emma's Goals for Her First day at Storybrooke –

Get 'bad boy' to run home crying, or at least fluster him a little.

She wanted to see him squirm.

"Well," Killian drawled, "earlier today you and I had I nice little chat about the kind of guy I am. Right on the money, I have to say."

Emma thought back, her eyes not wavering, to lunch –

"_You're the new girl." He stated, chuckling lightly in his gravelly voice._

_"Otherwise known as Fresh Meat?" Emma joked rudely. Killian seemed unfazed._

_"The hot mysterious blond I just can't wait to sink my teeth into," he shot back, playing along._

_Emma rolled her eyes and started back for Ruby and Mary Margaret, when Killian stretched his hand out lazily. "Killian Jones."_

_"Emma. Emma Swan," she said over her shoulder, refusing to shake his hand. - _

"I don't believe I said anything indicating your character," Emma stood her ground, not wanting to play his game anymore. She blinked.

Ms. Swan plopped down into the blue plastic chair and leaned over, most of her weight on her elbows.

"Now, I don't know why you're here. Frankly, I don't know why I'm here. But you and I both know that you'd rather be somewhere else, and same goes me. Whatever game you're trying to play with me, isn't going to work. All you are is a typical senior jackass who doesn't a shit about anything. So why don't you go back to Hell where you came from and burn."

"Blind hatred is wonderful thing to have in life isn't it?" Killian wondered aloud. "Especially when it's the new girl making assumptions as if everything fits into a nice square little box." He suddenly turned bitter, and growled through gritted teeth: "Think you know everything. Think you're too good for us small town chumps? Well guess what? Nothing is as universal as you make it seem. Everything's a mess and you digging your pretty little nose into it thinking you've seen it all doesn't make anything better." He should know. No one understood. No one went through what he went through.

"I know. A lot of things are messy. But that's our baggage to carry. And a lot of times, people get their luggage from the same place and fly on the same plane."

A lot of people's problems are the same, and the ways they choose to deal with them are the same.

"Look, I-" Emma stopped and shook her head. Killian Jones was trouble. The less he knew about her the better. "If you aren't interested at all in learning anything, I should be going back to-" She stopped once more. The little house she lived in with Penny and her foster siblings was not home. "I should be getting back."

Killian watched Emma walk away. There was something so utterly familiar about her. So distorted and complex, and so simple at the same time that it was impossible to understand her.

"Same time tomorrow?" he called after her. And for one split second he swore he saw Emma Swan smile.


End file.
